Page 77 of Perfect Guy

“Thanks.” He winces, and I lean forward immediately.

“What’s wrong?” My voice is high-pitched.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, cringing.

“Liar. Tell me. Do I call a nurse? I should call a nurse.” I stand to walk to the call button, but Canaan grabs my wrist.

“Sit down…headache. ’Ts all.” His speech is still slow as if it labors him to talk.

“I’m calling a nurse.” Determined, I stand, and Canaan sighs, knowing I left no room for argument.

Soon, a nurse comes in with a smile. “How are you doing?”

“He’s complaining about a headache. I know it’s common with his recovery, but is there something he can take?” I ask the nurse, wishing I could take all of Canaan’s pain and discomfort away.

She goes about checking on him. I stand back, giving her space to do her job. Canaan frowns. He hates being treated. It’s something I’ve learned in the past week he’s been here. Canaan is used to being the protector, the caregiver. When the roles are reversed, he doesn’t take it well.

“Here.” She hands him a pill and a cup of water. “This should help ease the pain.”

“Thank you,” I smile at her, sitting back in my spot after she leaves.

“I know you hate having them check on you, but it’s important. Why suffer through the pain if there’s something you could take to help?” I shake my head. “I’m not the only stubborn one.”

“I know.” He runs his uninjured hand down his face. He’s not a fan of the cast, but it’s necessary.

“The guys at work miss you. They send well wishes and have told me numerous times that if you need anything, to let them know. Bill’s been on top of your recovery.” I was unsure what would happen with his job, but it seems like they’re understanding.

He nods.

“The house is coming out great. You’ll be able to see it soon,” I smile, hope making me say those words.

“Maybe.” Canaan is despondent. It’s expected after the accident he had. He doesn’t remember much. Just running to the car. The next thing he remembers is waking up in the hospital. The memory of everything else is blurry.

“Hey,” Mrs. Collins walks in. “I got you a coffee, too, Madelyn.”

“You didn’t have to,” I smile. “Thank you.”

“I know you said you didn’t want any, but I thought you’d change your mind.” She takes a seat on the other side of the bed.

“How are you, sweetie?” She looks over Canaan, taking in all the details. Her fingers stroke his forehead with so much love.

“Good.”

“He had a headache. I called a nurse, and she checked on him and gave him medicine,” I inform, knowing Canaan will keep it to himself, much like the headache.

If it weren’t for his reaction, I’d never know he was in pain. He calls me stubborn.

“Oh, good.” Mrs. Collins looks at me with sad eyes. I nod, reassuring her. I can’t imagine how difficult this is for her.

“Your dad will be by soon,” she tells him.

“He needs to work.”

“He is working. He’ll come by when he’s done, which will be soon.” Mrs. Collins raises her brows, and Canaan frowns.

He doesn’t want to be a bother to anyone. He’s told me before when he mentioned not coming to see him every day. He’s lost his mind if he thinks I’m staying away from him.

I wish I knew what was going through his mind. If he’d talk to me and tell me his worries and feelings, it’d be easier to help him navigate this.

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